The Ache That Isn't There
by Dixiegirl256
Summary: "You don't have to see something to know it's there; you can know it's there by the way it affects the things we can see." - Dr. Steven Weinberg
1. Prologue

_You don't have to see something to know it's there; you can know it's there by the way it affects the things we can see._

_- Dr. Steven Weinberg_

* * *

><p><span>Prologue<span>

Olivia Dunham has never been a sound sleeper.

Over the years, she's become accustomed to sleeping a few hours at a time, floating in and out of consciousness over the course of the night. Not very conducive to dreaming, but that was okay, too.

Since the Bridge Room, though, her usual sleeping habits had changed. At first, she thought it might be the stress of living in a temporary apartment in New York, seeing her alternate every day, or seeing the pressure that the Other Walter seemed to impose on her Walter. But as they became more familiar to each other, the stress lessened, and she had no good excuse for waking more often, for what little sleep she was getting was increasingly less restful.

That fuzzy area between wakefulness and sleep was the worst, followed only by its morning counterpart. Usually she woke quickly and immediately, but now she was spending more and more time in that in-between state, not quite asleep and definitely not awake.

Those were the times that she heard his voice.

She wasn't sure who HE was – it wasn't John; he'd been gone long enough that the memory of his voice was fading. It wasn't a voice she recognized from seminars, from interviewing victims or perps, from meetings with Massive Dynamic scientists, or from standing in line at the Indian take-out around the corner back in Boston.

It was just a voice, quietly intruding as she took deep breaths and tried to relax as the therapist had advised.

_Olivia… Olivia, I miss you._

_Hold on to me. You have to remember._


	2. Three Months Ago

Thanks as always to O'Connellaboo, Beta Extraodinaire! This wouldn't be half as much fun and not nearly as good without her!

Thanks also to the amazingly creative people at Bad Robot - all theirs, not mine.

_I don't think there's anything sadder than when two people are meant to be together and something intervenes. - Walter Bishop_

* * *

><p><span>Three Months Ago<span>

When they found themselves in the Bridge Room, as they'd come to call it, everyone there was baffled. No one knew how the two universes had merged without destruction or how Walter and Olivia had come face to face with their alternates.

She and Liv had circled each other warily while Walter and the Secretary had argued, voices becoming more strident with every breath. Finally Olivia had enough and slammed her hand on the conference table between the two of them.

"Stop it!" she said with enough authority in her voice to quiet the two men and earn a subtle nod of approval from her doppelganger. "However we got here, this is our opportunity to FIX what's wrong. Are you going to blame each other while our worlds die or use this chance to save them?"

ooo

Once the Doomsday Machine had stilled, the catastrophic events in Olivia's world seemed to diminish. No more random lightning, no more vortexes and sinkholes. Olivia's Walter and the Secretary had developed an uneasy truce. Astrid and the new agent from Hartford, Agent Lee, worked directly with Walter and organized the makeshift lab in the Bridge Room.

Walter and the Secretary battled daily, but with each battle came progress. Between the most brilliant minds in each universe and the combined resources of Massive Dynamic and the alt-world's Department of Defense, the Walters developed strategies to strengthen the soft spots between their worlds without the deadly Amber protocols.

Olivia and her alternate coordinated activities in their respective worlds, following up on the dwindling number of Fringe events and comparing notes on cause and effect, incidents and solutions. They, too, had formed an uneasy bond – not quite trusting each other, but each knowing the other too well to keep each other at arm's length.

ooo

As the scientists' work continued, Olivia's case load lightened.

She attributed her empty feeling to this surcease of activity, yet it persisted even when she was on a case. Her mind was so accustomed to a rapid pace; maybe the calm was playing tricks on her.

It's being away from home, she told herself, it's not seeing Rachel and Ella. But she'd traveled extensively on cases before, had been assigned to military bases around the world and been away from Boston and from her family for months at a time. She felt as if she'd lost something valuable, something that was a part of her.

Her body reflected her state of mind; it ached for no good reason. She'd started running again after she met Liv coming in from a run early one morning. She hadn't run in years, since her time in the Corps, but it seemed a good way to bond with her alternate, and God knows they needed all the solidarity they could muster these days. After a couple of weeks, she began to look forward to their runs, and the guards around the compound grew accustomed to seeing the two women, so alike yet so different, following the perimeter track. The exercise seemed to alleviate some of the daily stress, and her body quickly adjusted to the routine. Still, she ached.

At times, she thought she might be having panic attacks. She felt a tightness in her chest, the pressure of a giant hand squeezing her ribcage. Other times, it was just a hollow feeling that seemed to match the emptiness of her soul.

Olivia had never been one for introspection. She'd just bury her feelings, compartmentalize them and move on. This feeling was palpable, like nothing she'd experienced before; not when her mother died, not when Lucas had moved to Europe, not when John had been shot while pursuing a suspect and died shortly afterwards. She'd mourned her losses, but the feelings were distinct and attributable, and faded as time passed.

These feelings were unexplained and unpredictable. Sometimes it hit her with a physical force, enough to leave her weak and gasping. As time passed and the feelings of loss became more frequent, she began to identify triggers, seemingly unrelated, that seemed to intensify her grief – the smell of coffee brewing or bacon crisping on the stove; snatches of music from the radio; the weight of her wool coat on cold mornings.

The transitions between wakefulness and sleep became the most confusing. As she drifted off to sleep at night, she felt she could almost reach whatever IT was, but it was just beyond her grasp, her consciousness. And then she'd wake the next morning clutching a pillow, her face damp with sweat… or tears.


	3. Two Months Ago

_Real is just a matter of perception. - Peter Bishop_

* * *

><p><span>Two Months Ago<span>

And then The Voice started. It was male, low and calming, and she heard it indistinctly as she drowsed. At first, she thought it might be a TV or radio from the next apartment, so she tried sleeping on the couch for a few nights. An extra shot at night didn't help either; in fact, sitting on the couch and sipping her Johnny Walker or Bushmills seemed to intensify her anxiety rather than soothe it as it had always done in the past.

She became frustrated trying to locate the source of the sound in the small apartment. When she heard it, it followed her from room to room. One night, she'd had enough. She slammed her glass down on the coffee table and said in a firm voice "Alright, whatever you are, you're a massive pain in the ass and I refuse to let you bother me any longer." She thought she heard a low chuckle, and although it didn't stop, it became less of an anomaly and more of a fixture, like a ticking clock or the hum of the refrigerator.

She returned to sleep in her bedroom and the murmur became her lullaby.

ooo

There were times when Olivia was tempted to ask her – especially on days when her counterpart looked a little haggard, or when Olivia had experienced a particularly restless night herself – but she always stopped herself. "Some things are just too personal to ask anyone, even your alter-ego," she thought to herself wryly.

She made an appointment with one of the Massive Dynamic counselors; the FBI had them, too, but not with the kind of clearance she needed. And even though the Bureau said it wouldn't happen, she didn't want her sessions to be perceived as a weakness that would be held against her later.

The therapist didn't have much to offer – exercises to relieve and manage stress, meds if she wanted them, but no answers. So Olivia continued with the coping strategies she already knew: morning runs with Liv that left them both panting and soaked with sweat, and evenings with case files and whisky.

ooo

Driving from the Bridge Room to her office in the NYC FBI building, or to Massive Dynamic, she started seeing something out of the corner of her eye. Almost a glimmer, almost a figure in the passenger seat. She found herself listening to the local jazz stations on the radio – even though she didn't remember programming the presets.

And The Voice, as she'd come to think of it, was still there. Getting more insistent, really; she heard it during the day now, too.

_Olivia, have you eaten anything today?_

In that twilight between wakefulness and sleep, she could hear his measured breathing if she was very still.

She found herself sleeping less and less. The only time she felt rested were those moments in between. She could hear The Voice, could almost feel a body next to hers, warm, solid, real. And she reached out to pull him closer and touched – nothing. And woke up, again.

In the mornings, she started reaching for two mugs, two spoons. In the evenings, when she unlocked the door, she almost expected to hear someone in her kitchen, see someone stretched out on her couch. She even caught herself reaching for a second glass, on the nights when she had the energy to bother with a glass instead of just grabbing the bottle, standing there in the small kitchen waiting for the familiar burn to ease the ache that seemed to follow her now.


	4. A Month Ago

_I know what it's like to have a hole in my life. It's been there as long as I can remember. - Olivia Dunham_

* * *

><p><span>A Month Ago<span>

Olivia found herself in a unique position; no consultations with Walter, no cases demanding her specialized expertise, no interdimensional trespassers to track. It had been years since she'd had this much down time. Even when she and John were together, one or the other of them were always working active cases and the pace of their lives seemed more chaotic because of it.

She needed focus and motivation, anything to distract her from the empty feeling, the sense of missing something. She had to get answers and she knew there was probably only one source that could help her.

The man behind the desk looked up as Olivia tapped on the door frame. His crisp white lab coat hung from the coat rack just inside the door, but he still looked every bit the part of the brilliant biochemist and CEO of Massive Dynamic in his starched Tattersall button down, perfectly knotted tie, and cashmere cardigan.

"Agent Dunham, what a pleasure!" Walter Bishop came around the desk and greeted Olivia with a warm hug. "What brings you here today? No problems, I hope?"

"No, Walter. I was hoping to talk to you about a personal matter. Do you have a few minutes?"

Walter gestured towards a chair in front of his desk, then stepped over to close the door. "Of course, Olivia," he said in a less formal tone. He leaned against the front of his desk, and looked down at the young woman he'd come to regard almost as fondly as a daughter.

Their relationship had started in a much more contentious vein; as head of Massive Dynamic, Walter Bishop felt little need to tolerate a federal agent prying into the more confidential activities of his company under the guise of investigating so-called "Fringe" events. As the effects of these 'events' became more widespread, more deadly, and more public, he decided it was politically expedient to be known as the source of the solutions, rather than the instigator of the problems.

So, Walter Bishop and his inner circle at MD formed an uneasy truce with Olivia Dunham and the "Fringe Division" staff. Although the MD resources in New York were virtually unlimited, Harvard allowed Walter to reopen his old lab on campus – after a generous endowment from the Bishop/Bell Foundation and a visit from the FBI Special Agent in charge from the Boston office, Phillip Broyles. The Harvard lab was convenient for Olivia and her team, being based out of the Boston office, and it gave Walter a certain sense of freedom that he didn't have in New York as CEO of a multi-national corporation.

Over the course of the next few years, Walter had come to admire Olivia's courage and her persistence. They celebrated their hard-earned successes, and supported each other through their losses.

"So, m' dear…" Walter said encouragingly, as he extracted a Red Vine from the antique glass straw dispenser he kept on any desk he inhabited. The Secretary favored cigars, but Olivia's Walter had a sweet tooth and Red Vines were his favorite.

"Walter… I think I'm hallucinating. I keep hearing a voice, the same voice. I keep seeing someone out of the corner of my eye, but there's no one there." Olivia's voice was calm and measured, but her hands clasped and unclasped themselves in her lap.

"And this is no one you know? No one you might've encountered somewhere else?"

"No, Walter, although he seems familiar. And he definitely seems to know me." Olivia looked up at Walter, a worried look on her face.

"It's almost as if I can feel him, or feel where he should be. Like there's an empty space that should be filled."

Walter captured her restless hands between his own. "Olivia," he said softly, "Does this have anything to do with Agent Scott?" Even though John Scott had been killed before the FBI / MD partnership, Olivia had confided her loss.

"No, Walter, it's nothing like that." She sighed, and her normally controlled voice took on a desperate tone. "Walter, what's happening to me? "

"M' dear, is this man, this image… is he harming you, or threatening you in any way?"

"No, it's almost as if I feel safer when I see him, or feel him." Olivia ran her hands through her already tousled hair.

"Then just let it be. Your subconscious is trying to tell you something, and you must open your mind to it." Walter chuckled. "I have something that could help you with that, actually sever – "

Olivia stood, shaking her head in refusal, but with a small smile playing across her face. Dr. Bishop's predilection for homegrown pharmaceuticals was legend among the inner circle of his MD staff. As the MD staff and the Fringe agents grew more comfortable with each other, they warned Olivia and her team to be cautious accepting Walter's offers of food and drink.

As Olivia turned to the door, Walter spoke again, in a more gentle tone.

"Olivia… "

"Yes, Walter?" She turned, curious at the change in his voice.

"Olivia… When Elizabeth and I were much younger, she became pregnant. She lost the baby after only a few weeks."

"Walter, I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

The older man shook his head and a wistful smile crossed his face, softening his usually stern visage.

"No matter now. A great many things, good and bad, have happened since then. But I remember, she told me something that might be pertinent to your current state of mind." When he looked at Olivia again, he looked all of his sixty years.

"She said her arms ached for the baby that was missing. She ached for what wasn't there."


	5. Two Weeks Ago

_To lead a better life, I need my love to be here... - John Lennon, Paul McCartney_

* * *

><p><span>Two Weeks Ago<span>

She was meeting with her alternate, reviewing a map indicating the latest Fringe events, trying to discern a pattern. She looked up from the map and saw that the Other Olivia was staring at her.

"What?"

"You're not sleeping." It was a statement, not a question. Her voice was flat.

"No, no, it's fine. Just a little trouble last night. Not a big deal."

The other reached across the table and swiped her finger under Olivia's eye.

"One night of missed sleep doesn't require the extra strength concealer, Dunham. Believe me, I know."

ooo

Olivia stretched out on the couch in her NY apartment. "Not nearly as comfortable as the couch in Boston," she thought wearily, "but closer to the kitchen and the JWB on the counter than the equally uncomfortable bed."

After her third trip to the kitchen, she gave up any pretense of sobriety and brought the whisky with her. It had been another difficult day; the Walters were becoming more contentious and the Bridge Room was starting to deteriorate. No one knew how it had come to exist in the first place, but it was showing more signs of its impermanence every day.

The scientists, guided by the two Walters, had made progress in stopping the imminent dangers, but their final tasks were their most challenging: how to reverse the greater damage done to the Other Side, and to permanently end the potential to destroy either universe. This seemed to be the cause for the Walters' standoff; neither wanted to make any further sacrifice for the other.

Olivia drained her glass and stretched out again. Closing her eyes, she could hear The Voice in the background. She'd quit trying to fight it or to figure it out. After talking with Walter, she'd accepted the fact that her subconscious was trying to work through some psychological crisis, or – she was just going crazy. Either way, she couldn't let it interfere with the work at hand, so she'd stopped resisting it.

Tonight, The Voice was like a blanket covering her as she settled into the couch. "Wouldn't be the first time I've slept on a couch," she thought hazily. As she drifted off, she felt a delicate touch on her face, brushing her hair behind her ear.

_You'll feel better in the morning if you sleep in your bed, Olivia._

"It's a dream, it's that same dream, that same voice. Too much stress. Let it go."

Suddenly, she was cradled against a warm, masculine chest, two strong arms supporting her.

"Not gonna open my eyes. Just a dream. Let it go."

She missed the warmth, but felt the bed underneath her. The Voice was back, though, and the warmth returned along with it.

_Roll over, hon, give a guy some room. _

And the warmth wrapped itself around her and she relaxed into arms that gently cradled her. The ache that had been her constant companion eased, and she slept through the night for the first time since the Bridge Room had been created.

ooo

As each day passed without a solution, the tension grew. The Bridge Room was becoming more unstable; the corners were starting to shimmer as soft spots developed and the two Universes fought for dominance of the space. From time to time, the lights flickered and electricity arced between the fixtures. They were running out of time to develop a permanent resolution and their palliative measures were no longer strong enough to manage the rapidly deteriorating conditions on the Other Side and prevent their impact from being felt in this universe, much like the conditions they experienced just before the Bridge Room had been created.

Olivia and Liv eyed the work area worriedly. Walter had covered white board after white board with equations, but the Secretary sat with his arms folded across his chest, impervious to Walter's ever more animated gesticulations. Astrid, always the peacemaker, brought Walter a file that "needs your immediate attention, Dr. Bishop" and pulled him to another part of the room, speaking softly to him until his shoulders relaxed and his gestures became more subdued. The Secretary didn't move, but a slight nod of his head sent one of the DoD admins running for a cup of coffee.

"I don't know how much longer this can go on," Liv spoke in a low voice. "They're at an impasse."

Olivia looked at her guardedly. She still wasn't sure about her alternate's loyalties, even after all the time they'd spent together. Yet if this was going to succeed, the trust had to start somewhere.

"Walter tells me he has a solution," Olivia said in the same muted tone that Liv had used. "It won't fix everything, but it will allow the worlds to start rebuilding. It's sort of a reverse vortex." She gave Liv a questioning glance.

"But the Secretary wants everything fixed," Liv replied. "He's never been much on compromises."

Olivia nodded. "They both know we're running out of time. Neither world can survive if they don't agree on something."

Liv started to reply, but their phones rang, echoing each other. "Dunham," they replied simultaneously. They caught each other's eyes and exchanged a wry smile before turning away to speak.

"The patches are starting to deteriorate," Olivia said as she spread a map on one of the work tables. She and Liv agreed on a plan and lined up the necessary resources on each side to secure the breach. As they gathered their notes and headed toward the doors, they both looked back at the Walters, arguing again.

"Men," they said in chorus, and shared another smile before heading out to their respective tasks.

ooo

Thirty-six hours later, Olivia collapsed on her couch again, too tired to even reach for the whisky still sitting on the coffee table. Each time they'd sealed a fissure, another opened. Finally, the patches were stable again, and the two Fringe agents reported their results and went home to sleep, agreeing to meet at the Bridge Room the next morning.

Olivia dragged herself to the shower. Thirty-six hours of smoke, dust, and soot coated her skin with grime. She let the hot water stream over her face and hair, too exhausted to move.

"I've fallen asleep standing up," she thought, as she heard The Voice.

_Turn around, Olivia, so I can wash your back._

She felt large hands soaping her back and working out the tension between her shoulders. She leaned forward to rest her head against the shower wall and instead leaned into a man's chest.

_Let go, Olivia. I'm here, lean on me._

"It's just a dream," she reminded herself. "Relax and enjoy it. At least you've dreamed a handsome man."

She wrapped her arms around the dream, and let him wash her hair and turn her back into the water. She smiled as the dream extended one arm, then the other, and washed away the traces of dirt and ash.

She sighed as the soapy washcloth made its way down her body, gently circling each breast. "Might as well make it a good dream,' she thought, laughing a little at herself as she sank back against the warm body behind her and felt an impressive hard on against her lower back.

The Voice chuckled too, and wrapped an arm around her waist.

_Remember me, Olivia._

_Remember how this feels…_

_Remember how good this feels…_

She thought she was awake, but instead of being on the couch, she was in bed. Her hair was damp, and she smelled of citrus instead of burning rubber.

She knew she was still asleep, though, because she felt arms around her, and that same male chest pressed against her back. The impressive hard on was only slightly less hard, but still quite impressive, and long, muscular, hairy legs were tangled with her own smooth ones, toned from her daily runs with Liv. The Voice was quiet, for a change, but she could hear the deep, even breaths and feel the warm exhalations against the bare skin of her shoulders.

"I should be worried," she thought hazily, but calm wrapped around her like the arms she was sure she had dreamed, and she decided to worry about it when she woke.


	6. A Week Ago

_Offer me solutions, offer me alternatives __and I decline._

_It's the end of the world as we know it. - R.E.M._

* * *

><p><span>A Week Ago<span>

The next day only brought more reports of patches weakening and more arguments from the two Walters.

"Dammit, this will WORK! Why can't you get it through your head, you miserable bureaucrat?" Walter threw the marker he'd been using across the room and whirled to face the Secretary, his starched lab coat flapping as he turned.

The Secretary clenched his jaw and spoke in a low, measured voice. "I told you that any solution that requires an invasive process in our world is unacceptable. I don't care how sound your science is, you've inflicted enough on us."

"That's just it, if we share the energy dispersal, neither side will be negatively impacted, but if either side has to bear the full brunt of the vortex closure, the force will create irreparable damage. It has to be shared, don't you see?" Walter leaned over the table in front of the Secretary. "Get your mind off revenge and think of what's best for both worlds."

The Secretary grimaced. "Like you did, all those years ago, when you opened the first portal? Just because you could?" He stood up, his back ramrod straight, and leaned across the table into Walter's face.

Olivia and Liv were reviewing their maps with Astrid and Lincoln, but they all looked up as the Secretary's chair scraped against the concrete floor. It would've almost been funny in other circumstances, and it was more than a little bizarre, to see the two men glaring at each other. It was like looking in a mirror, or seeing both sides of the same coin: on one side, the academic turned mogul, crisp lab coat covering an equally crisp shirt and impeccably knotted tie; and on the other, the militarist, wearing the gray double-breasted suit as a uniform. Their intensity, however, was identical; it was clear they had drawn their boundaries and would give no quarter.

"I will NOT endorse a plan that will certainly impose a death sentence on thousands of our people, " Walter thundered. "Especially when the damage can be minimized simply by sharing the –"

"You have just imposed a death sentence on hundreds of thousands by your refusal to make the same sacrifice we have been making for years," the Secretary said grimly. He looked directly at Liv and nodded his head in the direction of their portal into the Bridge Room. "We're done here."

The Secretary strode off, leaving his assistants to gather his portfolio and briefcase.

"Wait, you can't just walk away." Walter's voice was tight with frustration. "If we can't resolve this, you're dooming us all."

Without breaking stride, the Secretary replied "And it's on your head, Bishop. It always has been."

"Dunham," he barked, his hand on the doorknob leading back into their world. "Report to Fringe headquarters and tell Colonel Broyles we're shutting it down."

Olivia and Liv were frozen, not believing the scenario being played out before them. When the Secretary summoned her, Liv shrugged her shoulders almost imperceptibly and looked at Olivia sadly. Both knew that without the will of their leaders, there was little they could do to implement any solution other than applying band aids until their time ran out.

Impulsively, Olivia reached out and grasped Liv's arm. Unless one of the Walters backed down, this would most likely be the last time she would see her alternate, this other version of herself.

They embraced tightly, feeling more emotion than either would've expected. As they parted, Liv clasped Olivia's hands and looked into her eyes, a reflection of her own, brimming with tears that neither would allow to fall. "I hope you find him," she murmured, and then she was gone, striding across the room with that loose-hipped gait that separated one from the other.

Olivia's forehead wrinkled in confusion, but she had no time to ponder Liv's words now. Walter sat down heavily and shook his head wearily. "You might as well call Broyles, too. We need to meet with the President to discuss our options."

Olivia and Astrid exchanged glances. "But, Dr. Bishop, I thought there were no other alternatives," Astrid spoke for them both, as Olivia was already trying to reach Broyles.

"There are always alternatives, Agent Farnsworth, but sometimes there are no good ones. We don't have the resources to stop the collapse permanently, and even if we did, the repercussions would be almost as severe as doing nothing."

Olivia slid her phone back into her jacket pocket. "Broyles is on his way, Dr. Bishop. He's already in touch with the White House and the President will be available by the time he arrives." Turning to the younger agent, she said "Astrid, we'll need the video conferencing set up."

"I'm on it," Astrid replied, already pulling out her own phone and moving toward the portal to their world.

Olivia walked over to Walter, whose face showed the strain of recent weeks. She touched his shoulder before sitting down next to him. "Walter, what happens next?"

"I don't know, m'dear, but I think our questions have turned from 'Is the end coming?' to 'How soon will it get here?'" He jerked his head in the direction of the other portal. "He can make it worse, if he so chooses. There's nothing he can do to save his world now, and the vengeful sonofabitch wants to take ours with it."

There was a low rumble and a tremor in the Bridge Room, as if it was confirming Dr. Bishop's pessimistic outlook.

"Walter, we should go to the conference room." Olivia glanced around the room, mentally inventorying its contents. "Astrid and I will arrange for your white boards and lab equipment to be moved to a more stable location."

As she followed Walter out the portal door, she paused for a moment. The ache in her chest was back, and the feelings of anxiety. No surprise there, she thought ruefully. The end of the world is here, because she couldn't make two brilliant minds see past their own hubris.

She shook her head sadly. "It all comes down to this," she thought. "Ego and pride. The inability to see past yourself.'

_Olivia, you did all you could do. _

_We'll find a way, I promise you._

_You're Olivia Dunham, you don't fail._

As she heard The Voice, she felt a soothing touch between her shoulder blades. She turned quickly, but saw nothing, of course - just the metal door of the portal.

ooo

The next few days reminded her of the days leading up to the creation of the Bridge Room; Fringe events across the country, soft spots and collapses in almost every area they'd patched, the weather violent and unpredictable. The sky was a peculiar color – not gray, but not sunny either – lifeless, as though the sun was dying.

For the first 48 hours, they'd thrown all their resources at it. Broyles marshaled all available agents and they did what they could, but they were overwhelmed. Walter and Astrid had been barricaded in his lab at Massive Dynamic, attempting to find another permanent solution, then finally anything that would buy them a little more time.

By the end of the week, they had no more to give. They met in Walter's office at Massive Dynamic, overlooking the New York skyline. The air was heavy with smoke from fires started by broken gas mains ignited from random lightning strikes, and dust from collapsed buildings. Ash seemed to float in the air continuously as if it were snowing.

Olivia looked at the other people in the room, the faces she's seen almost every day for the past 3 years since transferring to Broyles' Fringe division. Walter, his usually starched appearance showing the wrinkles and creases that could only be caused by wearing the same clothes for days on end. Astrid, always the calmest of them all, patting Walter's shoulder with shaking hands. Lincoln, the newest member of the group, disheveled and dirty, trying in vain to find a clean spot on his ripped shirt to polish his glasses. Even Broyles, whose demeanor never changed, looked tired… and without hope.

Broyles broke the silence. "Dr. Bishop, are there any options left? Anything we can try?"

Walter looked down as if his hands held the answer he sought. "Phillip, we've tried everything. We executed the vortex transversal this morning, since the West Coast had already been evacuated. Without the energy resources from the Other Side, there just wasn't enough power to close the rift; it was too far gone."

He raised his head slowly and looked at each person in the room. "The only thing to do now is wait for the end."


	7. Yesterday

_When the world ends_

_You know that's what's happening now_

_I'm going to be there with you somehow - Dave Matthews, Glen Ballard_

* * *

><p><span>Yesterday<span>

Broyles was reluctant to let his team get too far out of reach. Astrid and Lincoln both had family in the city, and Broyles arranged transportation for them. Walter was taking an MD helicopter to Reiden Lake, his summer home.

"It's peaceful there. I feel closer to Elizabeth when I'm there," he told Olivia as he pulled her into a tight hug. "I wish things were different, m' dear." As he bent to kiss her, his unshaven cheeks grazed hers and her constant ache turned into a stabbing pain.

"Walter, you did the best you could. We all did."

He stepped back and gazed at Olivia. "There's so much I want to tell you," he began, but was interrupted by a call from the co-pilot, notifying him that they were ready to take off. He pulled Olivia to him once more, then stepped away and shook hands with Broyles.

"Phillip."

"Walter."

And then he was gone, leaving Olivia and Broyles standing in front of the window watching a dying city.

"Sir, I'll contact you in the morning."

Broyles shook his head, never turning away from the view, and replied, "If there is a morning, Dunham." At last, he faced her and said, "Go home, Olivia. There's nothing more for us tonight. If something comes up…" His voice trailed off and he resumed his scrutiny of the ash-filled sky.

ooo

There was nothing else for Olivia to do but go to bed. She'd already talked to Rachel and Ella in Chicago. She'd tried a bath, but she was too keyed up to sit, unmoving, until the water relaxed her. She'd opened her last bottle of Scotch, a 30 year old Macallan that Walter had given her, but she didn't want to drink herself into a stupor. If it was the end of the world, she wanted to face it head on; and if it wasn't, Broyles would need her tomorrow. So – she pulled her well-worn Northwestern t-shirt out of her bag and laid down to watch the shadows play against the wall as lightning ignited fires and clouds of ash blocked the illumination of a dying sun.

_Olivia…_

She blinked, focused, blinked again. She wasn't asleep, she could still see the patterns of light and dark dancing on the wall.

She HAD to be asleep. She heard The Voice. She felt his hand clasping her arm, his body snug against hers, the warmth of his body like a furnace against her slight frame.

She closed her eyes and rolled toward the warmth. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes… and gazed into blue eyes deep as the ocean she remembered from her childhood in Jacksonville and trips to the beach. Eyes that never wavered from hers, that drew her in like the arms that were surrounding her now, pulling her closer to him.

When she was as close to him as she possibly could be, he stroked her hair and pressed his lips, soft, warm, solid lips, against her forehead.

_Do you remember? Do you remember me now?_

"You're not real. I must be asleep… or drunk… or dead." Olivia's voice was tight. Her forehead was furrowed, as it always was when she was confused and she was struggling to understand what she was seeing.

He chuckled, a low sound that Olivia felt as much as heard, and kissed her wrinkled forehead.

_Real is just a matter of perception. I am here. And I'm a part of you that you have to hold onto. You can't forget who you are, Olivia. You can't forget where you're from. You can't forget this. _

And then he kissed her full on the lips, gently but insistently parting them. Olivia tried to push him away with her free hand, but he caught it in his own and held her palm to his face as he continued to kiss her, as if he'd been kissing her for years.

Olivia instinctively curved her hand around his cheek and felt the soft stubble. "I KNOW this," she thought, "I know this feeling… "

When he finally pulled away, she studied his face. Deep set blue eyes, surrounded by tiny crinkles as he smiled back at her. Chestnut hair cropped close, not-quite-a-beard, and full lips that she wanted to feel against hers again.

"You've been here all along… what… I don't understand…" Although she knew she should be demanding answers to a thousand questions, she was unable to feel anxiety or panic, just the pervasive calm that seemed to surround her whenever she heard The Voice, his voice. "Why now? We're all just waiting to die."

_Shhhh… We're just beginning, Olivia. _

And he kissed her again and the thousand questions seemed much less important than the feel of his lips against hers, of his hands sliding under her t-shirt to softly caress her back, of her breasts pressed against his bare chest when her t-shirt was discarded.

Every touch was a reminder of… something, something she couldn't remember but was positive she knew. She knew the weight of his body over hers, the way he settled against her as if he was home.

He knew her as only a lover would – the way his lips brushed her neck over that certain spot that made her tingle; the way his long, slender fingers cupped her breasts and teased her nipples until she moaned into his shoulder; the way his voice murmured in her ear and ignited a fire, made her liquid and longing for him.

As the sky fell and the ground tilted under them, he raised his head and gazed at her.

_Olivia… hold on to me. I've got you, I won't let you go._

His eyes never left hers as he moved into her. She twisted her fingers into his hair, and her body met his in a rhythm they both had known forever. There was nothing left; all she could see, all she could feel, was him – the warmth, the calm that his presence always brought her, and the intensity of their lovemaking that was reflected in his eyes.

_Olivia…_

And as the waves washed over them, the world faded away…

ooo


	8. Today

_Oh, you know when the world ends_  
><em>I'm going to take you aside and say<em>  
><em>Let's watch it fade away, fade away<em>  
><em>And the world's done<em>  
><em>Ours just begun<em>  
><em>It's done<em>  
><em>Ours just begun…<em>

_I'm going to love you_  
><em>I'm going to love you<em>  
><em>When the world ends<em>  
><em>I'm going to hold you<em>  
><em>When the world is over<em>  
><em>We'll just be beginning...<em>

_- Excerpts from "When the World Ends" by Dave Matthews, Glen Ballard_

* * *

><p><span>Today<span>

Olivia opened her eyes. She was on a platform, in front of the hulking machine that overshadowed the room at Liberty Island. In front of the man who had materialized in her apartment, who wrapped her in his arms and loved her as the world faded into nothingness.

"Peter!"

"Olivia… you're alive!"

ooooo


End file.
